


ingrained

by Mekina



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Established Relationship, Face-Fucking, M/M, Soulless Sam Winchester, Wincest - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-28
Updated: 2013-07-28
Packaged: 2017-12-21 14:17:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,640
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/901256
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mekina/pseuds/Mekina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Open up," Sam says softly, lips turning up a little in a smirk when he feels the shiver that goes through Dean at his words.</p>
            </blockquote>





	ingrained

Dean never wakes up gradually. Not anymore. Once upon a time he might have, but that was a long time ago, when he was young enough that he knew nothing of hunting and what's really in the dark.

As long as he can remember, it's been like this: a sudden snap into consciousness, like the instant when someone flicks the light switch in a dark room. He's asleep one moment and awake the next.

Since hell, his return to the waking world is usually accompanied by his racing heart and frantic breaths, and he only calms when he sits up, looks around, and remembers that that's gone, it's over and done with.

This time, as soon as he opens his eyes, Dean pretty much forgets to have that instance of panic because the dick in his face is sufficiently distracting.

Sam is sitting astride his chest, dick in hand and inches away from Dean's mouth. This soulless version of his brother is unnervingly composed, even when he's hard and wet (his dick is dripping precome onto Dean's chest.)

"Open up," Sam says softly, lips turning up a little in a smirk when he feels the shiver that goes through Dean at his words.

Dean stares. His eyes flick from Sam's face to his dick and back to his face. In an instant all the protests he could (fuck, should) make fly through his mind. He should speak up. Tell Sam to get off of him, or just push him off.

He doesn't.

He meets Sam's eyes again, dark and expectant. That look. Jesus. Sam is looking at him with all the smug certainty of someone who _knows_ his command will be followed.

Dean opens his mouth.

Sam nudges forward without hesitation, moving until he's astride Dean's shoulders, cock pushing right into Dean's mouth. He gives Dean a second, which he's grateful for (then again, it's probably just because he knows Dean won't be any use if he suffocates during a blowjob.)

It's only a moment, and then he's pushing deeper, until half of his dick is in Dean's mouth and he's already so full of Sammy he can barely breathe. Sam is going to want him to take the whole thing, Dean wants to please Sam and take the whole thing, but he's not sure he _can._

"That's it." Sam leans forward, gripping a fistful of Dean's hair to make sure Dean is looking at him. "Now suck me."

Dean makes it as good as he knows how, does the stuff Sam, the real Sam, used to love. He sucks and uses his tongue and pulls out every trick he knows to make it good. Sam lets him for a while, hand getting progressively tighter in his hair until finally he shakes his head. Dean stops and waits.

He knows that was good. Sam seems to want more. He pushes deeper into Dean's mouth, and Dean--

Dean relaxes and breathes slow and steady through his nose, making it easy for Sam to slide right into his throat.

Sam makes a surprised noise when Dean doesn't choke. "Good boy."

It's an offhand comment, but it makes Dean moan and grip at the sheet desperately with both hands. Sam starts moving, fucking in and out with deep thrusts. Dean just lays there and takes it.

Taking hold of the headboard with both hands, Sam starts going as deep as he can, his entire dick down Dean's throat. He speeds up a little, but not too much. It's almost too much, but Dean can take it. He can.

Now he starts moaning. Fuck, it's embarrassing, but he can't help it. Sam's as deep in him as he can get, and he's so surrounded by Sam, and Dean probably wouldn't want to admit it but the way he's choking a little, tears leaking from his eyes now as Sam speeds up, it's turning him on.

His dick hardens in his boxers. Dean moans desperately around Sam's dick, pushes his hand into his boxers and gives his own cock a gentle stroke. It's so good. He moans again, louder, and swallows, making Sam pant and his hips jerk.

Dean gags, eyes watering more heavily, and there's that moment of blinding panic, of thinking he's going to suffocate, but his dick twitches and leaks when Sam doesn't pull back at all.

Sam knows what he can take. Even now, Dean can’t help but trust him. Fuck, it’s ingrained so deeply in him to trust Sam that this soulless version, this empty shell of his brother, his body still instinctively relaxes and lets Sam in, lets him in deep. Lets him own Dean in ways only Sam ever has. He’d never let anyone else do this. No one else would be allowed to control and dominate him like this.

Sam’s still fucking in and out in the same slow, steady rhythm. Dean grips his dick, gets the same pace. He’s almost embarrassed at the noises he’s making around Sam’s cock, moans and whimpers and, fucking Christ, whines. 

It’s unnerving, the way Sam is so quiet during sex now. He never was before. He never seemed to be able to keep his mouth shut. He’d ramble madly, crap like, “Beautiful,” and, “Pretty,” mindless compliments that made Dean squirm but he enjoyed anyway. And even his sex noises were loud. He’d moan and shout and gasp so loudly people in motel rooms next to them would often hit the walls to try and get him to quiet down.

Now, he just grunts, breathes a little heavily, but mostly, Sam is quiet. Dean hates it. It only makes him more aware of his own noises he can’t keep back, the way Sam takes him apart so easily. Turns him on and gets him going no matter how much he wishes Sam didn’t. Because this, this isn’t really Sam, and Dean hates him. He hates that cold, calculating expression, the way Sam bluntly tells him he just doesn’t give a damn about Dean. It hurts and he hates everything about this soulless Sam, but it’s still Sam’s body, and Dean’s never gotten hot over any other cock but Sam’s.

He knows when Sam gets close, the way he starts losing control. Methodical, steady Sam losing it has always turned Dean on. He’s the cause of that, he’s the one that makes Sam shake and stutter out of rhythm. That’s him doing that. Dean jacks himself faster.

Sam thrusts two, three more times then pushes in as deep as he can, balls on Dean’s chin and pubes up against his nose. He can’t breath, fuck, he really can’t. It doesn’t matter, Sam is coming, gripping the headboard so tightly the wood creaks threateningly.

There’s a long enough pause that Dean is honestly considering throwing Sam off before he passes out. Sam pulls out just in time, softening dick slipping out of Dean’s mouth. Sam nods at him and swings a leg over so he’s sitting on the side of the bed, reaching for the briefs Dean hadn’t even noticed.

He doesn’t even fucking thank Dean, just stands up and goes into the bathroom. He had to have noticed Dean’s hand in his boxers, his obviously hard dick, but he doesn’t bother offering anything, not even a handjob.

Goddamn it. Dean turns his head, rubs his face against the sheet, trying to get the worst of the mess of spit and tears and a bit of come off. “You asshole! Not gonna fuckin’ return the favor?” he yells in Sam’s direction.

Dean is pissed off. His anger doesn’t diminish his horniness though, so he yanks his boxers down and starts fucking his fist. It’s quick, rough enough that it almost hurts, but Dean’s too turned on to care. His throat aches, fucked raw, his voice is going to be gravelly for hours. Every time he speaks he’ll remember how Sam fucked his mouth, the way he just opened up and _let_ him—he took it so good, let Sam use him and—

He moans and bites desperately at his already swollen lip as he comes, spurting all over his belly. Dean sinks back against the mattress, panting.

*

Sam stops brushing his teeth to listen as Dean comes. He recognizes those tiny, breathless moans Dean always makes when he loses it.

Despite his recent orgasm, his cock twitches slightly in interest. It can’t be helped. Dean is a hot piece of ass.

The way Dean just lay there and opened up so prettily for him. Just fucking let him. It’s a rush, similar to the way Sam feels when he’s moments from death on a dangerous hunt. The only things that make him feel now. Hunting and fucking.

He’s got Dean wrapped around his finger. Until they get his soul back (if, being the key word there, and Sam intends to keep it at a firm ‘if’), Dean will do whatever he wants. Sam knows just what buttons to push, just what to say to get Dean to spread for him.

Dean softened up during that year with Lisa. Sam never stopped hunting. He’s better, more experienced now. With enough pushing, he can get Dean to follow his lead on hunts, too.

No matter what Dean might think of Sam now, he’s going to stick by his side, watch over him and make sure nothing happens to him, if for no other reason than keeping the body safe until he gets Sam’s soul back (for a time when he _thinks_ he’ll be getting the soul back.) No, he’s not going anywhere, and Sam’s going to get what he wants from Dean. Dean would do anything for him if he just asks, or orders, him to in the right way.

Sam rinses his toothbrush off and smiles. Yeah. He knows just how to handle Dean.


End file.
